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  • The Climb: Built From the Struggle

    “Built From the Struggle”

    There comes a point in every journey where you stop and look back — not to dwell, but to understand. To truly see the miles you’ve walked, the storms you’ve survived, and the mountains you’ve already climbed.

    That’s where I am now. Somewhere between who I was and who I’m still becoming — still pushing, still striving, still believing that everything I’ve been through wasn’t just pain. It was preparation.

    The Weight of the Climb

    People see the climb and they think it’s just about moving upward — as if success is simply a matter of taking one more step. But the truth is, the climb is heavier than that. It’s the sleepless nights. The doors that never open. The calls that never come. The moments you question if you’re even meant to keep going.

    It’s the weight of expectations, both spoken and silent. It’s the ache of grief, the burden of responsibility, and the sting of disappointment when life doesn’t unfold the way you hoped.

    Yet still — I climb.

    The Purpose Beneath the Pain

    Somewhere deep down, beneath the exhaustion and the uncertainty, there’s a purpose that refuses to die. A voice that keeps telling me this story isn’t over. That every struggle is shaping something bigger than I can see right now.

    I used to think The Climb was about reaching a destination — the job, the business, the dream. But now I understand it’s about something greater: becoming the person capable of carrying those dreams once they arrive.

    This climb is teaching me patience. It’s teaching me resilience. It’s teaching me how to build with bruised hands and love with a heavy heart. Most of all, it’s teaching me how to believe — not just in what’s possible, but in myself.

    Legacy Over Likes

    I’m not here for quick wins or shallow validation. I’m not chasing trends or trying to impress anyone. The Climb isn’t about popularity — it’s about legacy.

    I want to leave behind something that matters. I want someone to read these words years from now and feel less alone. I want my children to look back one day and understand that their father didn’t quit — not because life was easy, but because he believed they were worth the fight.

    And if all this struggle, all this pain, and all these small steps forward add up to something bigger than me… then every ounce of it will have been worth it.

    Where I’m Headed

    This blog isn’t just a journal anymore — it’s a movement. It’s a living record of a man refusing to break. It’s the story of someone who’s been knocked down, counted out, and overlooked — and still chooses to rise anyway.

    And I want you to rise with me.
    Whether you’re starting over, rebuilding, grieving, or chasing something that feels too far away — The Climb is for you too. Because we’re all climbing something.

    The Promise

    I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have it all figured out. But I know this: I will keep climbing. I will keep fighting. I will keep building.

    Not because I have to — but because I was born to.

    And if you’re reading this, maybe you were too.

    This is not the end. This is the evolution. Welcome to the next chapter of The Climb.

  • The Climb: One Last Goodbye

    When I’m in the middle of trying to piece my life back together, the hardest blow came. My mother passed away.

    It feels unreal to even write those words. The woman who gave me life, the woman who prayed for me through every storm, the woman whose hands held me steady when the world was spinning out of control — she’s gone.

    Her Love

    My mother’s love wasn’t loud. It was steady, patient, and always there. She had a way of giving without expecting anything in return. If you came to her house, she made sure you ate. If you had a problem, she listened before she ever spoke. She carried people’s burdens quietly, and she carried mine more times than I can count.

    Her faith in God was her anchor. And whether I believed in myself or not, she believed in me. She believed in all of us.

    Her Strength

    Even as her body grew weaker, even as dementia took pieces of her memory, her strength remained. Sometimes she knew me, sometimes she didn’t — but even in those fragile moments, I could still feel the power of her presence. She was more than a mother; she was a rock.

    She lived with dignity, and she endured with grace. And even in the days when her voice grew softer, her love spoke louder than words ever could.

    Her Legacy

    She taught me that life isn’t about what you have, it’s about what you give.
    She gave everything she had — her time, her care, her wisdom.
    And even when her body could no longer keep up, her spirit spoke louder than ever.

    If you knew my mother, you knew love.
    If you knew my mother, you knew kindness.
    If you knew my mother, you knew God’s light shining through a human being.

    Goodbye, Mama

    Mama, I don’t know how to live in a world without you. But I know this: I will honor you. Every step I take, every word I write, every climb I make will carry your name.

    The world feels empty right now, but my heart is still full of you. Full of your prayers. Full of your laughter. Full of your love.

    Rest easy now. You gave everything you had. And I will carry you with me always.

    In Loving Memory

    Marva L. Clay
    March 01, 1939 – October 03, 2025

    💔 This is not just my loss. It’s the loss of everyone who ever knew you. But Mama, your love doesn’t die here. It lives on in me, in your family, in the climb you prepared me for.